


I can't face this life alone

by LassieLowrider



Series: One Hundred Stories of Fluff and Angst [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Sharing a Bed, they love each other (spoiler alert) but they're dumbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 18:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LassieLowrider/pseuds/LassieLowrider
Summary: Crowley’s plan for sleeping at least a week was foiled, however, when his bedroom door swung open. It creaked, something he’d intimidated it into not doing five seconds after noticing it - of course, someone’s expectation that doors should creak did rather overpower the by now old intimidation.“Angel?” he asked, voice garbled with sleep, but a vague, groggy sense of familiar ethereal energy from the doorway kept him from worrying too much. “Wha’s wrong?”





	I can't face this life alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juiceboxjellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juiceboxjellyfish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [We're Okay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834432) by [juiceboxjellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juiceboxjellyfish/pseuds/juiceboxjellyfish). 

> Title from Queen's _Save Me_
> 
> I own nothing, nothing at all

After Armageddidn’t, once Crowley and Aziraphale had reached the Mayfair flat via a confused Oxford bus, Crowley rather hurriedly installed Aziraphale in the guest room. Installed meaning, of course, that Crowley pointed at the door to the room, said “That’s you”, and then headed into his own room.

There were a lot of things to process, a lot of thoughts to be had, so of course Crowley fell asleep an instant before his head hit the pillow. It was the kind of deep sleep he hadn’t actually experienced since that time he slept for a century. He felt that averting Armageddon merited a good, long nap, especially since the averting was done against explicit orders.

Crowley’s plan for sleeping at least a week was foiled, however, when his bedroom door swung open. It creaked, something he’d intimidated it into  _ not  _ doing five seconds after noticing it - of course, someone’s expectation that doors should creak did rather overpower the by now old intimidation. 

“Angel?” he asked, voice garbled with sleep, but a vague, groggy sense of familiar ethereal energy from the doorway kept him from worrying too much. “Wha’s wrong?”

“I…” Aziraphale hesitated, something so unusual Crowley actually sat up to look at him, going breathless at the sight. Aziraphale was standing in the doorway, visibly hesitating, the soft light spilling in from the hallway haloing him in gold. Crowley said his name again, bringing Aziraphale out of his stupor. “I can’t sleep, could I - can I stay here? With you?”

Crowley felt as if he were falling again, a swooping sensation of impending doom. Despite that he didn’t even pause to think, choosing to just turn the covers down in invitation. Aziraphale hesitated a moment longer - almost trembling by the threshold - before he came in, the door softly closing behind him. 

Crowley abruptly remembered  _ why _ , exactly, this was a monumentally bad idea as Aziraphale crawled into the bed. The angel exuded warmth, unlike anything Crowley had ever felt. He settled back into bed, lying ramrod straight on his back, staring into the ceiling.

As long as he could keep that position, everything would be  _ fine  _ come morning. 

Soon, the soft snuffling breaths of Aziraphale, asleep again, filled the room, and Crowley dared to relax, in tiny increments. Aziraphale was on his side, facing Crowley, and had one hand outstretched, almost reaching for him. Hardly believing his daring, Crowley reached back. When Aziraphale didn’t wake up the moment their fingers touched, Crowley felt a nauseating mix of elation and disappointment. Clutching harder at the warm hand, he settled again, resolving to at least try to go back to sleep.

He must’ve managed, even though it felt like no time at all had passed before he startled awake again. At first, he couldn’t pinpoint what woke him up, before it registered that the bed was ever so slightly shaking. Beside him, Aziraphale was gasping with barely smothered sobs, hands clasped over his mouth and eyes screwed tightly shut. 

Crowley reached out a hand, hovering for a moment above Aziraphale’s shoulder, before letting it land gently, ever so gently, as if he was afraid of startling a spooked horse; it was Crowley who startled, however, when all Aziraphale did was cry harder.

“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?” he asked, panicking - he could solve a lot of problems, but only if he actually knew what the problem was. Stroking the hand down Aziraphale’s arm, coming to grasp his elbow, trying to use the touch to ground them both. When the angel only keened at his touch, Crowley panicked even more. He sat up, leaning over Aziraphale, keeping his hand on his arm. “Please, please, I can help you but you must tell me what’s wrong, please angel?”

Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, but didn’t say anything, only shook his head and sobbed harder. Crowley stroked his arm again, tugging gently, hoping to at least see a bit more of his face, see if he could try and find out that way what was wrong - instead Aziraphale also sat up, more or less throwing himself at Crowley, tucking his face in his neck. 

He’s not ready for it, so when Aziraphale hits him full force Crowley falls back, hits the pillows and has the breath punched out of him, mostly from the surprise. He wraps his arms around Aziraphale, brings him as close as he physically can without actually melding their forms, and lets him cry.

Stroking a hand through his hair, Crowley hums the lullaby he used to sing for Warlock, lets the ancient tune do its best to calm Aziraphale from the hysteria he’d worked himself into. It works, too, the keening gradually turning into sobs, ending with Aziraphale crying quietly into Crowley’s shoulder.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong, angel?” he ventured, tone careful and hand still stroking through the blond curls.

“I-it’s so,” Aziraphale began, renewed sobs interrupting him before he could speak the full sentence. “It’s so - so stupid.” 

“Hush now,” Crowley said, falling back on his experiences from being Nanny - that was more or less the only experience he had with crying people, whether they be a human child or an etheral being. “It’s got you this upset, angel, it’s not stupid.”

“I thought - I thought we would lose, and then the - the children took care of the Horsepeople and then,” Aziraphale sobbed out, the kind of run-on sentence Crowley hadn’t heard from him since the Library of Alexandria burnt to the ground. “But then Lucifer appeared and I thought we’d, we’d die but you stopped time and Adam stood up to him and everything’s fine.”

“Exactly, everything’s fine, and we don’t have to worry about anything anymore, right?” he replied, trying to sooth the almost hyperventilating angel in his arms. He had Aziraphale right where he wanted him, but he had never imagined him crying if it happened.

“But I thought we were going to die and I love you and I hadn’t told you!” Aziraphale wailed and began to cry again, sobbing relentlessly, face still hidden in Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley, meanwhile, was experiencing something of a crisis, and certainly an out-of-body experience. As in a haze, he kept on trying to calm Aziraphale, but all he could focus on were the words ringing through his head, repeating as if it was playing on a scratched record.  _ I love you. I love you. I love you.  _

One skill demons had kept from their time as angels was the ability to sense the truth in words, both written and spoken ( _ I love you _ ). Crucially, this was a skill Crowley had cultivated, ( _ I love you _ ) made sure to keep using so he wouldn’t forget how - and now, it was unmistakable, how the words Aziraphale spoke ( _ I love you _ ) rang with nigh-on holy Truth. It wasn’t just something Aziraphale believed, he actually genuinely did love Crowley.

It took an extreme effort of will for Crowley to not faint when it actually sank in what Aziraphale had said. ( _ I love you. _ )

It wasn’t until Aziraphale raised his head from Crowley’s shoulder, wiping at his eyes, that the two of them realised what the soothing lullaby had turned into - a litany of love fell from Crowley’s lips, each word more ardent than the one before.

Aziraphale sat up, kneeling on the bed, and had either of them spared it a thought they would have seen just how much it looked like praying, how it seemed the angel was paying reverence to the demon in his bed.

Crowley, too, sat up, bringing his knees to his chest, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale - the angel so shocked at what he’d said he’d stopped crying. Crowley felt as if he may start any moment.

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale finally broke the long moment of silence, reaching a hand out for Crowley who flinched away from it. Turning his head away, Crowley hesitated for another moment, before he gathered himself to speak.

“I - I do love you, angel. It’s - I know you don’t mean it like  _ that _ , but.” he said, stammering, carefully, studiously not looking at the angel in his bed. Oh, how he’d like it if Aziraphale never slept anywhere else, the blond curls contrasting magnificently against his black sheets, the sleepy smiles in the morning, breakfast served in bed… “I have loved you for six thousand years, angel - I love you most ardently, and would marry you in the eyes of Heaven, Hell and everyone in between.”

Now, Crowley expected quite a few different reactions to that statement, most of them consisting of Aziraphale either letting him down gently or storming out in disgust, all depending on what mood Crowley was in when he imagined it. Never had he expected that Aziraphale would burst into tears. 

“Angel?!” Crowley turned his head to look at him so fast that, had his body not been well versed in ignoring human aches, he’d get whiplash. 

Aziraphale had once again buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Crowley got to his knees, hands reaching out to grab Aziraphale’s shoulders again, when the angel removed his hands from his face.

“Are you  _ laughing _ ?” Crowley couldn’t help but be outraged - how could he declaring his undying love be a cause for the kind of hysterical laugh Aziraphale was currently engaging in?

“I’m not laughing at you, dearest,” he managed to get out between peals of laughter, reaching out to grab Crowley’s awkwardly hovering hands in his own. “I have loved you for so long, my darling, and I cannot believe how much time we have wasted.”

Once again, Crowley’s ears rang with Heavenly Truth, and now it was his time to fall into Aziraphale. He wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in the golden curls. He would vehemently deny for the rest of his existence that he started crying - if asked, Aziraphale would only smile, not saying anything to deny or confirm.

Crowley pulled away, ever so slightly, just enough that he could see Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale cradled his face in his hands, thumb stroking the cheek beneath one luminously golden eye. They knelt there, facing each other, and maybe one of them, maybe both independently, leaned in. If, when they finally kissed, their lips tasted of salt, well, neither of them would ever mention it. 

They loved each other and would face whatever came their way the same way they faced the end of the world; side by side, hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as isauntervaguelydownwards.
> 
> Based on #17 from a Angst/fluff prompt list - I can't sleep, can I stay here?


End file.
